


a half silvered goodnight

by DenmarkStreetGutterClub



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenmarkStreetGutterClub/pseuds/DenmarkStreetGutterClub
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	a half silvered goodnight

Robin rode the elevator up to the office, still enjoying the novelty of the new feature almost two weeks in. She exited and strode along the bright corridor, halting at the glass-walled cube marked 'Strike and Ellacott Detective Services' in sandblasted lettering. She unlocked the door and entered their reception area, which boasted two peach sofas and an array of large potted plants. A box of tissues and an intercom speaker resided on a low coffee table between the sofas, and the whole space was fronted by a walnut welcome desk standing directly in front of Robin. She looked around, sighing; she was impressed with the decor, even more so that Strike had managed to negotiate furnishings with the price. 

A little tired from the day's surveillance, Robin wanted to say goodnight to her partner before heading home. She walked towards the opaque wall that led to their inner offices. Pinned to this wall was a large calendar that depicted a different inspirational quote for every month of the year. This month's advice read, "Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens." Robin recognised it as a Jung quote. She smiled and headed for the inner door.

Strike emerged from the office just as Robin reached it. He looked her up and down, just once, but once was enough. He seemed to have instantly memorized her ankle boots, black dress, leather jacket… He finally looked at her face, and she was smirking at him.

"That's a positive review if I ever saw one," she said.

"I didn't say anything," he replied.

"You didn't have to," she breathed, and she stepped boldly towards him. She pulled his mouth down to hers for a passionate kiss, rocking up onto her tiptoes. His hands gripped her hips as he kissed her back with delicious enthusiasm.

Robin was still enjoying the novelty of this, too, a few weeks in; a mere month earlier, this would have been off limits. But wine and whisky had lowered their inhibitions, and they had finally given in to the feelings they had denied for years. Despite her initial embarrassment at revealing that she'd fantasized about him, Robin couldn't, in hindsight, feel sorry that she'd been so frank. Strike had matched her desire with a burning heat of his own, and their tentative new relationship had given Robin more thrills than the previous ten years combined.

Strike moved his hands around to grip her arse. His fingers squeezed reflexively, and Robin hummed softly. "People can see us," she muttered.

"You started this," said Strike.

"I know, but…" Robin looked out of the glass wall towards the rest of the office building. Things were dying down, given the early evening, but the other offices' inhabitants were still coming and going. The sunset coming in through the windows gave everything an amber glow. Robin wasn't a fan of public displays of affection, but she had to admit to herself that it gave her a little rush to imagine people watching Strike's passion for her play out. 

"The walls are half-silvered. Did you know that?" asked Strike, a small smile playing around his lips.

"No. What does that mean?"

"I'll show you. Can you get me a cup of water from that cooler in the corridor, please?"

"But we have one in the -"

"Just go," said Strike, smiling playfully. Robin narrowed her eyes.

"Okay."

Robin left the office and crossed to the water dispenser at the other side of the corridor. She couldn't resist walking with a slight sashay, an extra roll of her hips, and when she glanced playfully over her shoulder she was rewarded with the obvious attraction in Strike's eyes. 

Robin filled a paper cup and turned back. She fixed her eyes on Strike as he moved to the edge of the room and reached out for the light switch. He pressed it, and suddenly the entire wall was a mirror. Robin was left looking at her own stunned reflection, holding the cup of water aloft.

She burst through the door, and Strike was laughing. The low sun cast light through the outer windows and meant that she could still see him clearly, but the office was otherwise in shadow. Robin put the water down on the reception desk and closed the door behind her. She could still see the corridor in exact detail, brightly lit as it was; she let out a laugh that was almost a gasp, and turned back to face her partner.

"So we can see them…" she began.

"...but they can't see us," Strike finished.

"Oh," she breathed. Strike was stalking towards her, his eyes blazing. "Holy f-"

He was on her before she could finish the word, his mouth hot and insistent on hers. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her to him, almost lifting her up into his chest. His hands resumed their grasp on her butt, this time under the dress. A low hiss escaped him as he cupped bare skin and realised she was wearing a thong.

Robin moaned lightly as she felt his hands grip her flesh; she dropped her hands to his jeans, fumbling for his flies and tugging the button open. Strike raised an eyebrow teasingly and opened his mouth to speak, but Robin shut him up with a devouring kiss. She bit his lower lip and he groaned in appreciation. 

"No stalling," she said, kissing and nibbling along his jaw. 

"Now why would I want to do that," he said darkly.

"To drive me wild," suggested Robin.

"You're wild already," he growled, and he spun her around to face the glass wall.

Strike grabbed Robin's hands and planted them against the glass, his own covering hers for a moment or two. She rolled her head to the side and he kissed her neck, hard; she moaned and her breath fogged up the glass in front of her. The office workers beyond continued to traverse the corridor, chatting to each other, blissfully unaware of the lustful couple just feet away.

"Stay there," said Strike, and he moved his hands down her body. His touch was feather-light as he went, and he reached the hem of her dress before coming back up again, lifting the fabric. He pulled it up until it stayed around her hips, exposing her from the waist down. Both of his hands slipped into the front of her underwear, and he found moisture there already; he hummed into Robin's ear, and her breathing turned to panting as Strike's fingers began to tease her open.

He paused to get rid of the thong; kneeling behind her, he trailed his lips down the back of one leg as he pulled the underwear down, and Robin shivered as she felt his warm breath along her sensitive skin. He stood and resumed his ministrations. Robin's legs began to tremble as Strike's fingers circled her clit, and she moaned when the long fingers of his other hand entered her.

Her hands were spread wide, braced against the transparent wall, and she could see people milling around, filing out of conference rooms, catching up in the kitchen area to her left. Strike's hand ground into her, his fingers teasing her clit, and her excitement was electric; standing against the glass, she felt as though she were on a stage.

She let out a cry as sensation and pleasure built within her, and she heard Strike's zipper move down its track. He removed his hands and she groaned. Suddenly she felt him behind her, pressing his body against her; he ran his fingers into her hair, pressing kisses to her cheekbone.

"The desk?" he said, inviting her. Robin turned her head and looked at him, her eyes burning with desire, her mouth open. She turned in his arms and kissed him deeply, her lust making her rough, her hands fisting in his hair. 

They moved together towards the reception desk, and Strike led her around it until she was facing away from him, hands on the dark wood, looking out at the bright corridor. Strike curved his body over hers, stroking down her arms, dropping kisses on the back of her neck. He encouraged her forward so that she was bent over the desk. Strike looked at her for a second or two, and then whispered in her ear.

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm wonderful," she murmured. "Now fuck me."

Strike closed his eyes and shoved down his trousers and boxers. His rock hard dick sprang free, and he grasped it in his hand while he stroked Robin's skin with the other. He stood behind her, dipped his knees, and entered her in one long, hot stroke.

Robin moaned loudly, her grip on the table shifting as Strike rutted into her from behind. The wood felt rough against her stomach, but she could still feel the leather of her jacket against her back; the sensation of being undressed just enough made her feel gloriously wanton. Strike screwed into her harder, and she cried out. She had needed this, and she loved his fervour. He was so skilled, so hard… her toes clenched inside her boots and she pushed back on him, eager for more.

Strike fucked her, hard and intense, Robin spread out and moaning on the desk before him. He tilted his hips, rolled into her; he knew the angle would be deep, and the erotic cries she made were getting louder. He bent his body low over hers, one hand gathering her hair and gently turning her head to the side.

"Shhh," he warned, and nipped her earlobe with his teeth. He didn't stop grinding into her, and she grabbed his free hand, gripping it tightly with the effort of keeping quiet.

Strike released her hair, leaned back, and reached between her legs to find her clit. She gave a strained moan as he rubbed her slowly, in time with his measured thrusts. He felt her body tense, and he groaned; his own climax was building, and sweat slicked his brow. 

Robin raised her head and looked to the oblivious staffers outside. She stayed there for a few seconds, watching, and then her eyes screwed shut. Strike felt the pressure build, gathering heat in his groin; then with a roar he thrust his orgasm into her, slamming her against the desk, his hand at her clit rubbing hard circles against her flesh. Her ecstatic moans mingled with his own, and he registered her whole body shaking as he leaned over her, pressing kisses to the side of her neck.

He pulled her up and into his arms, kissing her sweetly. They stayed for a moment, just breathing, wrapped around each other.

"You're amazing. Absolutely amazing," Strike whispered into Robin's hair.

"Fucking hell," said Robin, laughing. "I only came to say goodnight before I went home."

"That's the best way to say it," joked Strike. He pulled her dress down, refastened his trousers and looked around at the darkening office. There was a small puddle of water by the door where the paper cup had been knocked off the desk. Strike laughed softly and Robin gazed up at him.

"Are you okay? Was I too rough?" he asked her, concern in his eyes.

"No. I'm great. That was incredible," she murmured, and the shy blush that stole across her cheeks made Strike grin with shameless pride.

"Well, goodnight," he said, kissing her again.

"Come with me?" she asked hopefully.

"Okay," agreed Strike, and he smiled to himself as he grabbed his coat. 


End file.
